


I Am A Pirate King

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-26
Updated: 2001-01-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 17:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray makes Fraser tell him the rest of the story about the pictures in Uncle Tiberius' trunk -- you know, the pictures of naked...





	I Am A Pirate King

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

I Am A Pirate King

## I Am A Pirate King

by Mary

* * *

NOTES: Why did Ray have to cut Fraser off after the word 'naked'?! 

DISCLAIMER: There's been a mutiny at Alliance and I've seized control of these characters....just until they finish their story. 

Humor; Episode-Related (MOTB); Rated PG 

**I AM A PIRATE KING**

By Mary 

"Tell me a story," Ray suggested as we both began to fight the drowsiness overtaking us. It was the middle of the night and we were on our way to Sault Ste. Marie to catch the Henry Allen before it left port. 

"A story?" I asked, forcing my eyes open. 

"Yeah, you know. 'Once upon a time, there was a freak named Fraser...'" He looked at me, but I refused to say anything because it only would've made matters worse. "Gimme a break. That was just an example. Don't go getting all hurt on me again. Just tell me any story." 

"You hate my stories, Ray." 

"No, I don't." 

"Yes, you do." 

"Yeah, okay, I do. But this is an emergency. It's three in the morning and I'm falling asleep here." 

"Well, I'm flattered that you think my storytelling will keep you awake--" 

"No, actually, I was counting on you to put me to sleep so you could take over the driving for a change." 

"Ah, well, I'd be more than happy to take the wheel, as it were, Ray. I just assumed you'd prefer to drive." 

"No, Fraser, what I'd prefer is to be home in bed." 

"Yes, that's understandable." I could see Ray seething as he muttered a sarcastic 'understandable' and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he accelerated the car. "You know, Ray, you're exceeding the speed limit by quite a large margin." 

"I can handle it." 

"Not that I doubt your driving skills, Ray--" 

"It's not skill, Fraser, it's like a...like a zen kinda thing, you know?" 

"Really?" 

"Yeah, it's like me and the car are one. I don't drive the car. I meld with it and we just-- you know, go! -- like it's not about control." 

"Oh dear." 

"Right now, at this moment, I am this car and this car is me and we are--" 

"Speeding." 

"Look, do you wanna get there in time or don't you?" 

"Yes, I do." 

"Then shut your yapper and let me drive." 

"You don't want me to drive, then?" 

"Not in this lifetime." 

"I see. Very well." I sat back and tried to relax, which was not easy considering the tension in the air. Ray and I had been working together as partners for quite some time and I had thought we had formed a close bond of friendship, as well. However, it had become apparent that Ray did not agree. An argument the day before had ended abruptly when he threw his fist into my face. After deciding it was time to dissolve our partnership, this latest case had fallen into our laps, quite literally, in the form of a murdered pirate. So, we just needed to survive this one last case together. 

With my peripheral vision, I could see Ray scowling and taking uneasy glances at me. "So, what about that story?" he asked grumpily. 

"Excuse me?" 

"A story. You've always got a story." 

"I don't know, Ray. This doesn't really seem an appropriate time." 

"Sure it is. Go on. Tell me about the time you wrestled the bear that was attacking your boy scout camp." 

"I don't believe you really want to hear about that." 

"Aha! So you did wrestle a bear that was attacking your boy scout camp?" he asked. 

"No. Well, not exactly. It was a wolf. A cub, to be precise. And I didn't wrestle it, exactly. You see, it was lost and frightened. So I relaxed it by playing with it until its mother--" 

"No!" Ray interrupted. 

"No?" 

"Not that story." 

"You see, I told you you didn't really want to hear it." 

"Yeah, all right, all right. You're never wrong, okay?" 

"Ray, I never said I'm never wrong." 

"You don't have to. It's in your voice every time you open your mouth." 

"That's ridiculous. It most certainly is not in my--" I had to cut myself off as I suddenly realized I was in the process of proving him correct. Unsettled and chastened, I bowed my head and remained silent. As we sat there, at odds, I began to think that Ray was right -- that I was impossible to get along with. I was consumed by an illusion that my body was actually shrinking, and I wished I could just disappear completely from Ray's company. 

"Tell me about your uncle," Ray's voice pulled me out of myself. 

"My uncle?" 

"Yeah, what's-his-name. With the trunk, you know, where he hid the dirty pictures." 

"Uncle Tiberius?" 

"Yeah, that's him." 

"I don't recall mentioning any dirty pictures, Ray." 

"Don't give me that. Naked, you said. He kept pictures of naked girls in the trunk, in the...the secret compartment thingamajig. That's what you said. Sounds like dirty pictures to me." 

"Point taken. Although, you know, if you'll think back you might remember that I didn't actually specify that the pictures were of women." 

"What?" 

"You interrupted me, Ray. If I'm not mistaken, I only got so far as to say 'pictures of naked...' You assumed that the pictures were of naked women." 

"What're you telling me, Fraser? That your uncle kept a secret stash of pictures of naked polar bears?" 

"Not that I'm aware of, no." 

"Then admit it, they were naked women, right? Right?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they were." 

"Aha!" 

"Aha?" 

"I caught you lying. Mister Perfect Mountie was lying." 

I was really beginning to weary of this. "Is there a point to all this, Ray?" 

"A point? Yeah, of course. The point is you're just as human as the rest of us, even if you are a freak. You can even tell a lie." 

"I never claimed I wasn't human. However, strictly speaking, I did not lie. I said that I hadn't specified that the pictures were of women. That was the truth. Now, if I had said that the pictures weren't of, um, naked women, then I would have been lying, yes." 

Ray furrowed his brow in a mix of confusion and anger. "All right, all right. You win." 

"I'm not interested in 'winning' anything, Ray. I didn't realize we were competing." 

"You didn't realize?" 

"No. Until today, I was under the impression that we were friends." 

"Well, I guess that just shows how wrong you can be." 

"Yes, I suppose so." I was going to let the matter drop, but I couldn't. I needed to try to clear the air so that I could understand what I had done to hurt Ray so deeply. "I just want you to know, Ray, that I am sorry, truly sorry, that I have failed you as a friend. I have always held you in the highest regard and I never intended to treat you otherwise." 

Ray stared straight ahead at the road, silent for a while. "Shut up and tell me about the dirty pictures," he finally ordered, a little uneasily. 

"I'd like to oblige, Ray, but I'm afraid that is technically impossible." 

Ray glanced at me and then looked back to the road. He said nothing. He didn't appear angry. In fact, if anything, he seemed to have relaxed significantly. 

"That was, um, a joke," I said. 

"Yeah, I got it. Look, it's like this, Fraser. I'm not really in the mood for jokes. I'm in the mood for naked women." 

"Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid I can't really help you--" 

"Tell me about the pictures." 

"Do you really think that's wise, Ray? I mean, considering that we are in the car on our way to board a ship bound for Lake Superior on which we will most likely be, shall we say, lacking any female companionship." 

"Yeah, well, somehow, Fraser, I'm figuring that you telling a story about pictures of naked women isn't exactly gonna, you know, inspire lustful thoughts." 

"Perhaps. But, you know, I am only human. A naked woman is a, um, naked woman. No matter who's telling the story." I coughed and shifted in my seat. I was only human, after all, and I reckon I had been...alone...for at least as long as Ray. 

Ray didn't look at me, but I could see the sides of his mouth turning up in a reluctant smile. "You're a freak," he said, as if to remind me. 

I hung my head and picked at imaginary lint on my trousers. "That would appear to be the consensus," I answered. After a momentary silence, I cracked my neck nervously and said, "But, you know, they say it takes one to know one." 

Ray let out a short chuckle. "Yeah, I've heard that." 

I looked at Ray and he took his eyes off the road for a second to acknowledge me. We didn't smile, but we seemed to have agreed to a truce \-- even if only a temporary one. "I was seven," I stated. 

"Huh?" 

"When I, uh, came across the photographs." 

"Seven? Jesus, you were one lucky kid!" 

"Yes," I agreed, thumbing my eyebrow, "I must admit I did feel as though I'd stumbled upon a, um, a rather special treasure." 

"I bet. So, what'd you do?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Did you keep 'em?" 

"Well, in a manner of speaking..." 

* * *

Uncle Tiberius had been dead two months when my father showed up at my grandparents' house one day with an old trunk that had belonged to my uncle. As the adults rummaged through the trunk that evening, I plunged in as well, looking for anything that might serve as a toy. By the time we had nearly emptied it, the trunk itself had fired my active imagination. I had climbed inside it and was shouting a variety of orders to my dad and grandparents as I made believe that I was the pirate king to a band of scurvy outlaws. 

With accompanying sound effects, I drew an imaginary sword, and dared my grandmother to come any closer after she quietly remarked that my bedtime was nigh. 

"Heavens!" Grandma declared as she stepped back in mock terror. "Who is this stranger accosting me?" 

I didn't miss a beat. I immediately launched into a robust rendition of "I Am A Pirate King" from Gilbert and Sullivan's "Pirates of Penzance (a.k.a. The Slave to Duty)," and as Grandma continued to play the role of damsel in distress, Dad and Grandpa joined my song with echoes of "hurrah for our pirate king!" while I danced about inside the trunk and slashed through the air with my invisible sword. 

I was outwitted, however. Dad and Grandpa positioned themselves beside the trunk, and, as I enthusiastically brought the tune to a close, they did likewise with the trunk, folding the lid over me and slamming it closed over my forcibly crouched body. 

"Hey!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. Mind you, I wasn't frightened to find myself trapped in such dark, close quarters. At seven, I was well past the age at which such fears could be allowed and, besides, I knew they'd let me out eventually -- most likely before suffocation occurred. It was the principle of the thing. The bold effrontery of two underlings imprisoning their king! 

"Hey, yourself," Dad yelled back. 

"Let me out! I'm the Pirate King. You can't lock me in here." 

"Afraid I can, Ben. You see, I'm the Pirate King now. Right, Grandpa?" 

"That's not fair!" 

"He's right, Ben," Grandpa said. "There's been a mutiny. Your father has taken over command of this vessel." 

Dad then broke into a chorus of "I Am A Pirate King," accompanied by Grandma and Grandpa. I pouted in defeat inside my dark prison and, as I pounded my fist against the bottom of the trunk, I felt movement, as though I had punched a hole right through the wood. Curious, I ran my fingers along the spot and discovered that a little door on the bottom of the trunk had flipped open. A secret compartment! I thought excitedly to myself. My fingers found a small package, wrapped in string, stuffed in there, so I pulled it out and held it close to my face. Much to my consternation, the total darkness made it impossible to discern the identity of the object. All I knew was that it must be something pretty good, or it wouldn't have been hidden in a secret compartment. 

Suddenly, the trunk lid flew open and four hands reached down and grabbed hold of my arms. Dad and Grandpa lifted me out of the trunk and held me suspended in mid-air, between them. Even with my legs fully extended, I was unable to touch the floor. 

"What do you say, Grandpa? Into the brig with him, or a hanging?" Dad teased. 

"Hanging's too good for this devil," Grandpa answered. "The plank, I say. Let 'im walk the plank to his death." 

"No! Not the plank!" I yelled, struggling to break free of their grasps as they closed the lid of the trunk and stood me atop it, maintaining their firm hold of me. "Save me, Grandma!" I begged. "Don't let 'em kill me! I'm just a kid!" 

"A kid, eh? Just a few minutes ago you were a fierce Pirate King, threatening me with your sword." 

"But --" 

"Proceed, gentlemen," Grandma said. "Send the rascal to his just rewards." 

"Aye, madam," Dad replied with a wink. Then he and Grandpa let go of me and backed away, their imaginary swords poised to strike if I made one false move. "You heard the lady. Start walking, rascal." 

"Maybe he's scared," Grandpa said. 

"I ain't scared o'nothin'!" I asserted brashly, then asided to my grandmother before she had a chance to correct my grammar, "That's pirate talk, Grandma." 

"Yes, dear. You make a fine pirate." 

"Now let's see you make a fine, drowned pirate," Dad said. "Into the sea, you rogue!" he ordered with a quick poke to my back with his invisible sword, which momentarily put me off balance. 

Slowly, I edged my way across the trunk, then halted with my toes hanging over the edge. I looked down into the imaginary sea and gulped. Then I shut my eyes tight, took a deep breath, pinched my nose between my fingers, and jumped. As I rolled around in the sea, dying a rather melodramatic death from hypothermia, drowning, and, for good measure, a shark attack, Dad and Grandpa hooted and hollered in their triumph over the evil Pirate King. 

Finally, I lay still in the sea. I was dead. A silence was broken when Dad clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth saying, "Well, that's that, then." 

"Yup," my grandfather agreed. 

Grandma began to wail mournfully and I had to restrain myself from smiling. After all, I was dead, and dead people don't smile. 

"Surely you're not crying for the likes of him!" my dad said with disbelief. 

"I know, I know. He was an evil pirate who deserved no mercy, but I can't forget the fact that he was, also, my grandson." 

"He was a scurvy little knave!" Dad spit out. 

"Yes, but he was my scurvy little knave," Grandma wailed louder. "Oh, if only we'd given him a chance to redeem himself!" 

Things seemed hopeless for me. But upon hearing my grandmother's cries of regret, I started to wonder if perhaps all was not lost. I had heard and read enough adventure stories to know that when all seems lost, it usually isn't. Miracles occur. The hero who appears to be dead is, in fact, not quite one hundred percent dead. 

* * *

"You're gonna be more than dead in a minute," Ray interjected with irritation. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"You've been rambling on about pirates and Simon and Garfunkel tunes--" 

"Gilbert and Sullivan," I corrected him. I can't help it. It's my nature to correct inaccuracies. 

"What?" 

"It was Gilbert and Sullivan. You said Simon and Garfunkel." 

"Who cares?" 

"It's not really important, I suppose. It's just that, in addition to painting an inaccurate picture of the event in question, I'm uncertain that "Bridge Over Troubled Water" would carry adequate relevance to the story of a boy playing pirates." 

"This isn't supposed to be a story about a boy playing pirates. It's supposed to be a story about a boy looking at dirty pictures." 

"I really wish you wouldn't put it like that, Ray." 

"All right, all right. A boy looking at pictures of women in the beautiful, unadorned nakedness in which God brought them into the world." Ray then glared at me and added, "Better?" 

I nodded decisively, eager to calm Ray down. "That's actually rather poetic." 

"Yeah, so, what? That surprise you? You don't think I can be as poetic as the next guy?" 

"No, no....no, it's just that, well, you don't show that side of yourself often. Not to me, anyway." 

"So, don't you have, you know, sides you don't show everybody? Sides that maybe you don't show me?" 

His question unsettled me because I was all too aware of the answer. "Yes." 

"All right, then." 

"You know, Ray, that's interesting." 

"What?" 

"If you think about it, that could be our very problem." 

"What problem?" 

"The, um, rift in our friendship, our partnership." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Well, it would appear that neither of us really knows the other very well. We think we do, perhaps, but do we? Do we truly know each other enough to, um, to get along?" 

"The question could also be 'do we want to?'" 

"Do we want to get along?" 

"Do we wanna know each other?" 

"Ah, yes, that would be a question to consider as well." 

"Look, Fraser, I don't mean no offense or nothin', you're a good guy and all, but sometimes people are just too different, you know? Sometimes you know it's not gonna work." 

"Hmm, so why try?" I asked softly. 

"Exactly. It's just askin' for trouble." 

"Understood." 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ray squirming in his seat. He took a couple quick glances my way, then spoke with an almost apologetic tone in his voice. "You can, uh, still finish your story, though, if you wanna. As long as, you know..." 

"As long as we're here?" I guessed. 

"As long as you get to the naked part soon." 

"Ah, yes, just about there, Ray." I held my right hand up as if being sworn in for court testimony. "I swear." 

"Swear on what?" 

"Pardon me?" 

"You know, like do you swear to God or on the Bible or on your mother's grave --" He suddenly cut himself off. "Damn! Hey, I'm sorry, Fraser. I didn't mean--" 

"It's quite all right, Ray." 

"That's just one of those things everybody says, you know, so it just kinda slipped out." 

"Understood." 

"Jesus, you're impossible! You know that?" Ray snapped angrily. 

"Sorry?" 

"I just said the most dumb-ass thing I could possibly say to you. You should be mad at me." 

"Why? I know you didn't mean to be offensive." 

"I didn't say you have to stay mad about it forever, but, Christ, didn't you wanna ream me out, even a little bit?" 

"To what end? By remaining calm, in the time it would have taken me to, um, 'ream you out,' I was able to realize you meant no harm and avoided taking unnecessary retaliatory action which would only have served to escalate the situation out of due proportion." 

Ray furrowed his brow as he thought this through. "Are you kidding me?" 

"Kidding you about what?" 

"So, you're really not mad or hurt because I said that, you know, about your, uh..." 

"No, Ray, I'm not." 

"You're sure? You're not just saying you're not mad because you don't wanna have to yell at me?" 

"Believe me, Ray, if I felt it was necessary to yell at you, I would." 

"Yeah? So, you ever yell at anyone before?" 

"Of course," I answered, a little uncertainly. 

"When?" 

"Ray..." 

"No, when was the last time you yelled at somebody? I'm curious." 

"You want the exact date?" 

"Whatever." 

I tugged on my ear as I thought back. "Okay, well, just the other day, Diefenbaker " 

"No, no, not wolves. I'm talkin' about people here, Fraser." 

"I see. Um, well, when I was thirteen--" 

"Uh-uh! Doesn't count!" 

"You didn't let me finish. How do you know it doesn't count?" 

"Puberty doesn't count." 

"Ah, so you're admitting I'm human enough to have experienced puberty?" I questioned with a sly grin. 

"Depends. What'd you do with your uncle's dirty pictures?" Ray answered with an evil grin of his own. 

* * *

Grandma fished me out of the sea and cradled my lifeless body in her arms 

* * *

"I mean it, Fraser," Ray said firmly. "Get to the real story." 

"I am, Ray. You know, they say patience is its own reward." 

"Yeah, well, I bet they've never had to listen to one of your stories." 

* * *

Grandma planted a loving kiss on my forehead, and I took the opportunity to resurrect. I opened my eyes and smiled at her. 

"Hi Grandma." 

"Ben! Oh, honey, you're alive!" she squealed in delight. 

"Uh huh. The Pirate King can't die, Grandma. Don't ya know that?" 

"Well, I'll be a..." Dad complained until Grandma put a hand up to silence him. 

"But you were drowned and eaten by a shark. How on earth...?" 

"Simple, Grandma. The magic treasure saved me." 

"Magic treasure?" 

"What kind of nonsense are you talking?" Dad asked. "We killed you, dammit! You're cheating, that's what you're doing, you no-account--" 

"No, I'm not. Look," I said, holding out the treasure I had found hidden in the bottom of the trunk, which I had been clutching tightly the whole time. In all the excitement, I hadn't even had a chance to look at the treasure yet, myself, so I took it in both hands and began to study it. It was a small assortment of photographs and I only had time to catch a quick glimpse of the first one before the package was snatched out of my hands by my father. That quick glimpse was enough, however, to realize that it was a photograph unlike any I had ever seen. 

"What've you got there?" Dad bellowed, and then a mere seconds later, as he got a look at my treasure, all of the color seemed to have drained from his face. "Oh!" was all he could say at first. 

"What is it?" my grandmother asked and then tried to get a look at what had thrown such a shock into my father. 

When he saw Grandma reaching for the pictures, Dad threw his hands behind his back. "It's nothing, Mother," he said. 

"It's pictures, Grandma," I blurted out. "I found 'em in the trunk." I looked at Dad and received a very stern look which seemed to warn, 'You'll pay for that, Son.' 

"Oh, family photographs?" my grandmother asked with excitement as she tried to wrestle them away from Dad. 

"No, Mother, not family photographs," Dad answered, moving away from her and putting a finger to his lips to indicate that I wasn't to speak. "These belonged to Tiberius." 

"Well, then, why can't I see them?" she inquired. "I'm sure Tiberius wouldn't mind if I had a look." 

"That may be so, but I don't think you'd, er, enjoy them." 

"I would, Dad," I piped up eagerly. "Can I see 'em?" 

"No, you most certainly may not!" 

"Aw, shucks! I found 'em. They're my treasure, so I should get to look at 'em!" 

"Hush up, Benton," Dad scolded. 

"But, Dad--" 

"Go to bed, Son," he ordered, but I refused to move. "I said to bed with you. Now, go!" 

"That's not fair. What about 'finders keepers'?" I asked with a last-ditch pout. 

"I'll show you fair, all right, if you don't do as I told you this instant!" 

"Aw, darn," I cursed as I turned and started to make my way to my room. 

"Benton," my grandmother called. 

"What?" I replied, turning to face her. 

"Do you want to try that again, honey?" 

"Try what again?" 

"Saying goodnight, without the fresh mouth and the pout." 

That was my grandmother for you. Putting me on the spot with a challenge to do the right thing. I must admit, now and then I was tempted to say 'no.' But I knew that a threat of punishment lurked beneath her challenge, so I usually shaped up pretty quickly. Besides, since Dad was home for a change, I didn't want to give him the impression that I was in the habit of being contrary with my grandparents. 

I bowed my head and said, "Goodnight" to the general assembly. 

"Come give me a kiss and then run along to bed, honey," Grandma said sweetly, and I ran happily into her arms. "Don't let all these scary pirate fantasies disturb your sleep, eh?" 

"Heck, Grandma, I'm not scared of any old pirates," I affirmed proudly. 

"Well, good for you. Now, skedaddle!" 

My grandpa and I said our goodnight with a handshake and a smile, and then I presented myself to my father, standing almost at attention before him. "'Night, Dad," I said as my fingers grasped each other behind my back because I wasn't quite sure whether an offered hand would be welcomed. It'd been a long time since Dad had been around at bedtime. Or anytime, for that matter. 

"Goodnight, Son." He looked as anxious as I felt, but he did, finally, extend his hand to me, and I hungrily took it in mine. I gripped his hand tightly until he suddenly pulled it away quickly, as if he would've lost that hand forever if he had allowed the handshake to last one second more. "Go on. I'll, uh, tuck you in in a few minutes, if you want." 

"That's okay, Dad. You don't have to," I told him softly, trying not to let it show that I would've liked nothing better than to be tucked in by him. 

"Perhaps your father would like to, honey," my grandmother suggested. 

"Okay, you can if you wanna, Dad." 

"Well, all right, then," he said and then nodded his head and winked to send me off. 

Once I reached my room, I snuck behind the door and pushed it closed until there remained an open space big enough for me to peer through. I couldn't erase from my mind the image of that photograph I had found in the trunk, so I needed to know what Dad was going to do with it. Even though I'd only seen the one photograph, it seemed very likely that the others were of a similar theme or Dad wouldn't have been so adamant that I not see them. Therefore, I was determined to have a look at the entire treasure. 

"All right, now, what's all the fuss about those photographs?" Grandma demanded once she was sure I was out of the room. 

"Oh, very well, Mother," Dad sighed and took a seat. "You remember when Tiberius went off that time?" 

"Which time is that?" she asked sarcastically. 

"Oh, you remember. He ended up in Calgary, I think. Yeah, that's where I found him that time, Calgary. I told him he was nuts. I mean, if you're gonna go away, go away. Someplace East. Toronto, Montreal--" 

"Yes, yes, so what about it?" 

"Er, well, he was painting." 

"What do you mean, he was painting? Painting what?" 

"That's why he went away. To, uh, paint." 

"Ah, yes!" Grandpa suddenly cried, obviously understanding. I didn't understand yet, however, so I continued to listen closely. "That's what those are?" he asked with incredulity. 

"Yes, Dad, precisely." 

"Precisely what?" Grandma was becoming quite frustrated in her ignorance. "They're not paintings. They're too small." 

"Uh, no, Mother. They're not paintings." Dad and Grandpa looked at each other, unsure what to say next. 

"All right, that's it. If you won't tell me, I'll just have to look for myself." And Grandma grabbed the photographs from my dad so quickly he didn't have a chance to resist giving them up. "Oh my! Oh, my heavens!" Grandma exclaimed a few times as she perused the photographs. Then, as she reached the last one of the bunch, her face flushed and she thrust them back toward my dad. "Get rid of these! These are..." 

"Calm down, Mother. It's nothing...unseemly." 

"They're naked!" she screamed back. "They're not wearing a stitch of--" 

"I know, I know, I've seen them." 

"Yes, and so has your young son!" 

"Not really. Okay, he might've seen one of them, just for a second. It's not the end of the world." 

"What on Earth was Tiberius doing with those...photographs?" 

"I told you. He was painting." 

"Robert, I swear, sometimes you're as stubborn as a little boy!" 

Hmm, I thought to myself, wondering if she was alluding to me. 

"All right, all right." Dad cleared his throat, then explained. "He was taking this course, you see, a, er, correspondence course. You know, where they send you all the materials and you complete the course on your own?" 

"I know what a correspondence course is, Son." 

"Right, of course you do. So, he was taking this course in painting, and, er, these were his models." 

"He was painting nudes?" 

"All the greats painted nudes," Dad stated. 

"And our Tiberius was one of the greats, was he?" Grandma asked with a fair amount of irony in her tone. 

"Maybe, Mother, maybe. It wouldn't be the first time a great artist was discovered after his death." 

"Indeed," she agreed. "So, what happened to these great paintings of his? Were they in the trunk, as well?" 

"Uh, no. He sold them." 

"Sold them? To who?" 

"To whoever would give him a buck for them, I imagine. He had to make a living, you know, with a wife and kids to support." 

After a brief silence, Grandma nodded toward the stack of photographs in my father's hand and ordered, "Get rid of those. I don't care what you do with them, but I don't want Ben to have access to them." 

"Of course not. I'll just, er..." His voice trailed off a bit as he went into the study. From my vantage point, I could still see him as he perused the books on the wall shelves. "Ah, this one will do, I think," he said as he took a large volume from the shelf. "Benton won't be using this book for a good many years yet." 

"I don't know why you don't just destroy them. We have no need for those photographs." 

"Because Tiberius asked that they not be destroyed, that's why." 

"What possible difference could it make to him now?" 

"Well, I don't know. Perhaps none. But when he was alive, they meant a lot to him. They were sort of symbolic, I suppose. Like a good luck charm or some such thing." Dad came back into the living room, closing the study door behind him. "Anyway, I made him a promise that the photographs wouldn't be destroyed, and I intend to keep that promise." 

"Fine, I won't stop you. But, where'd you put them, if I may ask?" 

"Between the pages of 'Reproduction: The Ins and Outs of Creating New Life.'" 

Well, that was all I needed to know. As a grin of anticipation spread over my face, I closed my door and made my way into bed. 

* * *

Once everyone was asleep, I crawled out of bed, fetched my flashlight, and snuck across the living room, where my dad slept on the couch. After making it safely to the study and closing the door behind me, I pushed a footstool up against the bookcase and stood atop it, which allowed me just enough height to reach the top shelf if I stood on tiptoe and fully extended my arms. 

I shone the beam of the flashlight over the books, looking for the particular book in which my father had stuffed the pictures. My reading skills weren't quite advanced enough to allow me to make out all of the titles at first glance, but I was certain that, if I put my mind to it, I'd be able to locate the title my dad had mentioned. I had also made a point of memorizing the appearance of the book so that I would easily recognize it in a line-up, as it were. And, sure enough, as soon as the light drifted over the red leathered spine, I knew I had found what I was looking for. 

Carefully, I pulled the book down from the high shelf and placed it on a lower shelf where I would be able to handle it. I opened the book and began to thumb through the pages until I finally hit upon the hidden treasure. Using the flashlight, I illuminated the photographs and studied them, one at a time, as I arranged them on the shelf, side by side. There were four pictures, in all. Three grown-up, naked women, and one grown-up, naked man. As I was well- enough acquainted with my dad's naked body from our baths in the river on camping trips, I didn't feel compelled to focus a whole lot of attention on that fourth photograph. 

I continued to indulge my curiosity with wide eyes and mouth agape until I was suddenly startled when a book from the top shelf lost its balance and tumbled to the floor. I hurriedly jumped down from the stool to retrieve the book then attempted to return it to its place on the bookcase. In my unsteadiness, I accidentally shoved the book against another book and, as I cringed in horror and panic, the entire row of books began to fall from the shelf, bouncing off the lower shelves on their noisy way to crashing to the floor. 

Before I had time to collect myself, let alone the disrupted books, my grandparents and my dad had rushed into the study in search of the source of the clatter, switched on a light, and caught me, red-handed and red-faced. 

"Honey, what on Earth," my grandmother exclaimed sleepily as she made her way over to me. 

"Nothin'." Frantically, I closed the book that lay before me to conceal the photographs, which didn't fool my grandmother for a second. She took the book into her arms, read the title, and, after a curiously stern glare at me, opened it until the pictures fell to the floor. I watched silently, barely daring to breathe, as she bent down to pick them up. 

"Benton Fraser, what were you doing with these?" she demanded without even looking at them. 

"Now, Mother, relax," Dad said. 

"Relax? Look at these, Robert! Look at what your seven-year-old son has been doing in here!" She held out the pictures to him and he took them, without bothering to look at them. 

"Yes, I know, I know. I've, er, I've seen them. Remember?" 

"Er, uh, may I?" Grandpa whispered to Dad, who then handed them off as if the two of them were spies making a top-secret exchange of information. 

Dad squinted at me and frowned his displeasure as he advanced toward me. "I told you not to touch those, didn't I, Son?" 

"No, Sir." I eyed him meekly as I shook my head. 

"Eh? What's that?" 

"You took 'em away, but you didn't say I couldn't ever touch 'em." 

"Oh, no you don't!" he rebuked nervously as he stood with his hands on his hips. "You know damn well you understood my meaning!" Dad almost seemed to be laughing, but I was fairly certain he wasn't happy with me. 

I remained silent as my grandmother touched my dad's arm lightly to quiet him. She then turned to me. "Go to your room, Ben. Your father will be in to have a word with you." 

"Oh, now, Mother," Dad complained, but Grandma ignored him. 

"Scoot now!" she repeated her command with a spirited slap to the seat of my long johns. 

I left without a word and ran back to my room. Burying myself under the covers, I shut my eyes tight and prayed I would fall asleep before my father came in for that word. Within minutes, I heard my bedroom door open and seconds later felt someone sit on my bed. The covers were pulled down to expose my face, but I kept my eyes closed. 

Dad cleared his throat and, when that got no response, asked, "You asleep, Son?" Still, I said nothing, so he cleared his throat again, louder. "I see. Well, let's try this, nod your head once if you're awake and twice if you're asleep." 

Darn those times when Dad got the better of me! Without first thinking it through, I nodded my head up and down twice, realizing too late that the jig was up. 

"All right, Mister. Sit up so I can read you the riot act." 

I hesitated to move, but when my father pulled the covers off me, I relented. I sat up, facing him, and pulled nervously at my crossed legs. "Whatcha gonna read to me, Dad?" I asked softly. 

"It's an expression, Son. When you say you're gonna read someone the riot act, it means you're gonna scold him." 

"Oh." I looked him in the eyes and waited for the yelling to begin, but it didn't. 

"Look, Son, those pictures..." He rubbed his face and looked down. "You knew you weren't to touch them, didn't you?" He cocked his head at me and frowned. 

"Yes, Sir," I conceded in a whisper. "I'm sorry." 

"Well, all right, then." He patted my legs and seemed to be at a loss as to what to say next. 

"Are ya done readin' the riot act, Dad?" 

"Hmm, well, I suppose so." 

"Dad?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Who are those ladies in the pictures? Did Uncle Tiberius know 'em?" 

"Er, no, no, I don't believe so." 

"Well, who are they?" 

"They're nobody, Son. Those ladies are not your concern, eh?" 

"One of 'em was a man, you know." 

"Yes, I know." 

"Was he Uncle Tiberius?" 

"What? No, no. Don't you know what your uncle looks like?" 

"I dunno. I only saw him when I was little, and he had clothes on." 

"Ah. Point taken." 

"Did Uncle Tiberius know the man?" 

"No." 

"So if he didn't know any of 'em, how come he had their pictures?" 

"Afraid I couldn't tell you that." 

"Well, how come none of 'em had any clothes on?" 

"Ah, you noticed that, did you?" 

"Uh huh. I never saw a picture like that before, Dad." 

"No, I suppose not. I haven't seen many myself." 

"I always hafta get dressed up and brush my hair when I get my picture taken." 

"Yes, yes, and rightly so." 

"Didn't they have any fancy, picture-takin' clothes to wear?" 

"Er, well, no. You see, Son, those, uh, ladies -- and the gentleman \-- didn't have much money. They couldn't afford to pay for fancy clothes as well as to have their pictures taken." 

"Oh." I wrinkled my brow, as it still seemed very odd to pose for pictures without any clothes on and odder still to pass the pictures around for other people to see. "Gosh, I hope we're not ever that poor," I mused. 

Dad laughed aloud. "Oh, I shouldn't worry if I were you, Son. Your grandmother will always insist that you be properly suited for the camera." 

"Okay." I smiled a sigh of relief. "Dad?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What're you gonna do with the pictures of the ladies?" 

"I'm going to put them away in a safe place." 

"I could keep 'em safe for you, if you want. I wouldn't let anything happen to 'em, I promise." 

"Well, that's very, er, generous of you. You like the pictures, do you?" 

"Uh huh, I guess. The ladies are real pretty, even if they don't have any fancy clothes on." 

"Yes, well, the thing is, you see, a boy your age doesn't look at ladies who aren't wearing any clothes. It's improper." 

"Gosh. How come?" 

"Oh dear." Dad squirmed and thought for a moment. "All right, Son, pay attention. I don't want to have to say this twice." 

I chewed on my lower lip as I focused on my father and waited eagerly for his answer to my question. 

"Boys and girls are different, Ben. They have different...parts." 

"Different parts?" 

"Well, not totally different, mind you. We all have arms and legs and a head and such, right?" 

"Uh huh." 

"But some of our parts aren't the same. Boys have certain parts that girls don't have and vice versa." 

"Oh, you mean like the parts we go to the bathroom with?" 

"Uh, er, yes, Ben. That's right. Those parts, for example." Dad paused and squinted at me. "You know about those...differences between boys and girls?" 

"Sure, Dad. That's how come boys stand up when they pee but girls hafta sit down." 

"Ah, I see. Um, if you don't mind my asking, just how did you come by this knowledge?" 

"Geez, Dad, I'm not a baby." 

"No, of course not. So, you've, uh, seen a girl, have you, without, uh, without her panties?" 

"Uh huh," I boasted rather proudly. 

"And where was that?" 

"At Julie's house." 

"Julie Frobisher?" 

"Uh huh." 

"I may regret asking this, but what exactly happened at Julie's house?" 

"Whaddaya mean?" 

"I mean, what were the two of you doing that led to your, er, seeing Julie's differences?" 

"We were goin' to the bathroom." 

"Together?" 

"No, Dad, that's silly," I giggled. "Two people can't go at the same time. I let her go first 'cause she's a lady." 

"Oh, well, I'm glad to hear you were a gentleman. I take it you were in the bathroom with her?" 

"Uh huh. She wanted me to come with her 'cause it was the middle of the night." 

"Well, fine. I'm sure you were a great comfort to her." 

"Uh huh. She held my hand and wasn't scared of the dark." 

"Good, good. And so the two of you...compared your, uh...how you go to the bathroom?" 

"Yeah, but she was sittin' down when she went so I couldn't see nothin'." 

"Thank Heaven for small favors." 

"But when she saw me pee outta my penis, she said she wished she could do it like me 'cause I can squirt it where I want like a water gun. Girls can't do that, Dad. It just comes out from--" 

"Okay, Son, okay. I get the picture." Dad dropped his head into his hands and shook it back and forth several times, muttering inaudibly under his breath. 

"Dad?" 

"Yes, Son?" 

"How come girls don't have a penis like boys do?" 

Dad looked at me and smiled. "Bedtime! Get under the covers, Son." 

"But, Dad, you didn't answer my question," I whined as he guided me under the blankets and into a reclining position. 

"Tell you what, I'll tell you everything you need to know about the, uh, penis tomorrow." 

"Really, Dad? You will?" 

"Provided you go right to sleep now without another sound. And no more midnight jaunts to the library, you hear?" 

"Okay. 'Night, Dad." I turned onto my side and closed my eyes. 

"Good night, Ben." He patted my head, then tugged my ear as if to get my attention, so I opened my eyes and looked at him. "One more thing. No more, uh, going to the bathroom with girls, eh? You've seen enough for now. Save some mystery for when you get older." 

"How older?" 

"When you're old enough, you won't have to ask." 

"Aw, shucks. That's a long time." 

"Listen up, Mister. Bottom line is it's not proper for a Cadet to undress in front of a young girl, nor for him to be in the presence of an undressed girl." 

"I'm sorry, Sir." 

"No, it's all right, Son. I'm not angry. You and Julie did what any normal, curious boy and girl would do. However, now that we've had this little talk about proper behavior, I'll expect you to abide the rules. So, you keep your trousers on, kiddo, or you'll find your bare bottom smarting with my handprint. You hear?" 

"Okay, Dad." 

He tweaked my nose and winked and then made his way to the door. 

"Dad?" 

"Yes?" 

"When I'm older, can I look at the pictures of the ladies again?" 

"If you still want to. Good night, Son." 

"'Night." 

* * *

I don't think Dad enjoyed it much, but he did keep his promise. We had a nice long chat the next day, during which I bombarded him with all the questions on my mind and he did his best to answer them without giving me more information than absolutely necessary. I promised again that I'd respect the private nature of boys' and girls' differences, and Dad promised me that one day, when I was ready, I would enjoy discovering the secrets of the human body with a very special girl. 

Dad left us to return to his Mountie duties within the week. As soon as his truck disappeared down the hill that led from our cabin, I ran off to the shed in search of Uncle Tiberius' trunk. I found it tucked away in the corner of the loft. I remembered exactly where I had originally found the photographs, so I emptied the trunk enough to uncover the secret panel on the bottom and, to my delight, discovered that the photographs had been put back where Uncle Tiberius had left them. 

* * *

"Whaddaya mean, end of story?" Ray asked. "You were just getting to the good part! So, you're seven years old and you got your own secret stash of dirty pictures. Spill it!" 

"Spill what, Ray?" 

"Details, details! You know, like, did you sleep with the pictures under your pillow, or what?" 

"Don't be ridiculous," I replied, brushing my thumb across my eyebrow. 

"Ha!" Ray cried. "That's it, isn't it? You slept with naked women under your pillow!" Ray was practically singing with glee. 

"Well, first of all, they weren't naked women, they were photographs--" 

"Same thing when you're seven." 

"--and second...oh, hell, forget it." 

"So, you're admitting you did sleep with 'em under your pillow?" 

"I'm not admitting anything, Ray. But, if that's what you want to believe, I won't stop you. The story was for your enjoyment, after all, so you may as well have the ending you want." 

Ray didn't say anything at first. He just kept grinning like a demented wildcat. "You're such a liar," he finally chortled. 

"Am not." 

"Freak." 

"Possibly." 

"Fraser?" 

"Yes, Ray?" 

"Next time you tell that story, don't mention the picture of the naked man. It kinda spoils the, uh, mood." 

"That would be dishonest." 

"Yeah, well, which would you rather have: the truth or a good story?" 

I sat back and considered for a moment. "Point taken." 

* * *

**THE END**

maryspen@aol.com 


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